Page 37 of Dark Embrace

They had been riding all day. Aidan hadn’t said a word to her since leaving Awe, and for most of the day he’d left her with Will and the four huge giants, who were her bodyguards. Twice Aidan had returned to her side, and she knew it was only to see if she was in one piece. He had kept a tight rein on his emotions and she felt nothing from him when he came by. Considering she’d been so swept up in the war frenzy that dawn, she was relieved.

She’d managed okay. The mare was pretty mellow, and Brie decided she even liked her. At noon—or when she assumed it was noon—Aidan had returned to hand her a half loaf of absolutely delicious bread, stuffed with a meat she couldn’t identify. Before she could say thank you, he’d galloped off.

It had been the best sandwich of her life. Clearly, the Earl of Sandwich had not invented the meal.

Now Aidan urged the stallion down the ridge, leading Brie’s mare. They were stopping for the night, and Brie couldn’t wait to get off the horse and collapse in front of a warm fire. Why anyone liked riding horses was beyond Brie’s comprehension. If only there was such a thing as a medieval Jacuzzi. She’d settle for a natural hot spring.

Aidan halted before a large black tent with red and silver trim, which was flying a red flag with a snarling black wolf’s head set against a large gold Celtic cross. Brie stared in shock, forgetting all about her aching muscles and blisters.

Aidan leapt from the stallion. As he handed the reins to Will, his hand moved over the horse’s neck in a gesture of affection. “I’ll help ye down.”

“What is that?” Brie gasped, nodding at the pennant.

“My standard,” he said.

Demons feared crosses and all holy objects. They lost all their power when on holy ground or within a holy place. No demon would bear such a standard—at the least, it would be weakening. “That’s a cross,” she said.

“I’ve had the standard fer decades,” he said abruptly. “It brings fear into the minds and hearts of my enemies. Do ye wish to stay on the mare all night? It can be arranged.”

She stared into his simmering blue eyes, aware that he was becoming angry because she was raising a subject he did not wish to discuss. He blamed the gods for Ian’s fate, and he’d walked away from them. He acted as if he hated them, but did he really? She wasn’t buying, not for a New York minute, that he used the old standard solely for its effect on his enemies.

Was he clinging to a sliver of his previous life? Subconsciously, was he clinging to faith?

“To answer your question, I think I’m crippled for life. And no, I do not want to sit up here all night. I wouldn’t mind never getting on a horse again.”

His face tightened as he held up his hand. The moment Brie put her hand in his, she felt his heat, his virility. His gaze lifted, his blue eyes searing and bold.

How could he not feel the pull between them, too? she wondered. She reminded herself that he had the ability to make every woman want him. But he didn’t need to use his powers of sexual enchantment, because most women would look at him and drool. She knew she had better remind herself that this was very one-sided. His interest in her was her connection to his son, period.

But what, exactly, would their sleeping arrangements be?

He clasped her waist and a moment later she was standing on the ground. As he released her, Brie winced. Her legs were done. She’d probably be lame for life. “Ow,” she finally said, looking up at him. “And I do mean ow.”

For an instant Brie thought he might smile, but his face remained set in stone. “After a good night o’ sleep, ye’ll be fine fer the march tomorrow.”

She doubted it.

“But if yer too sore, ye can ride in a weapons cart.”

Great, Brie thought. She’d seen the carts pulling early medieval cannons—both the smaller mortars and the larger bombards. Those vehicles looked even more uncomfortable than the back of a good-gaited horse.

“Will, help Lady Brianna into the tent an’ settle her fer the night.”

Brie had the feeling she’d been dismissed. As far as she could see, there was only one black tent flying Aidan’s flag. If she slept there, where was he sleeping? She had a huge reason to be concerned—in fact, she had about four thousand of them. “Aidan, I can’t sleep alone.”

He had been about to walk away. He paused, slowly looking at her.

She flushed. “Demons are everywhere. My being alone in that tent is not a good idea.”

“I hardly said ye’d sleep alone.” Galloping hoofbeats sounded, and he turned.

Brie looked past him. A rider streaked toward them from the north, where Inverness lay. Aidan strode forward as horse and rider halted, the bay coated in sweat and lather. The rider, Brie saw, was a young Highland man. Obviously an emergency was at hand.

She prayed the march would be called off. That would solve the matter of his hanging, at least for now.

A flurry of Gaelic followed.

“What are they saying?” Brie asked Will, who was waiting patiently for her.